


Nocturnal

by DeadWitch (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Harry, Dark Harry, Half-Blood Prince AU, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 00:20:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DeadWitch
Summary: Still grieving the death of his godfather, Harry Potter is faced with unsettling visions and secrets that rip apart the very fabric of everything he holds true, and soon he finds himself questioning if he is fighting for the right side.





	

**Nocturnal**

**DeadWitch**

**Prologue**

**** ****

****\--** **

_“Tell me the location of Harry Potter!”_

_It is a sharp demand, voice harsh and hissing as the words are spoken out loud. Pale fingers with sharp blackened nails grasp a pudgy rat-like face by the chin. There is blood running down the prisoner’s fair bruised skin, matted in his short dark blonde hair, and tears leaking out from his beady dark eyes. Weakly, his voice trembling, frightened and defeated, the prisoner speaks._

_“Please.” he sobs. “Please, I’ll do anything. Please, I don’t know anything. Sirius is-”_

_“Don’t lie.” a cold hiss interrupts. Nails dig into flesh, drawing out a whimper. “My sources tell me that you are the Potter’s secret keeper, not Black.”_

_“I can’t.” he sobs, ugly and loud choked off sounds tearing out of him in the dark._

_“Tell me where the Potter’s hide, and I’ll make the pain go away.” a razor blade smile, pearl teeth glistening in the dark. “Don’t tell me, and you will die. It is your choice, Pettigrew.”_

_A whispering plea for forgiveness, a nod, and then, “Godric’s Hollow.” Peter Pettigrew sobs brokenly. “They’re in Godric’s Hollow._

_“Show me.”_

_**\--** _

_There is a monster in Godric’s Hollow._

_Or rather, the semblance of a monster. He is tall, bone thin, and pale as a corpse. Ruby eyes glow out from a serpentine face, half cast in shadows from the black hooded cloak he wears. Beside him a fat injured man shivers violently, not from the chill bite of the autumn air, but from fear and exhaustion born from torture. The wind pushes leaves across the street, crackling amid unknowing childish laughter in the pumpkin scented air._

_With a shaking hand the rat like man points._

_“Tell me the secret.” the other commands in a sibilant voice. Then, mockingly, ”Say it out loud, secret breaker.”_

_“The Potter’s hide in number 17 Godric’s Hollow.” Peter breaths out._

_Before them a house appears. The monster grins. “You’ve done well.” He hisses. “Wait for me.”_

_When he enters the house, the other runs._

_**\--** _

_The door flies off it’s hinges with a loud bang._

_“Lily!” James let’s out in a terrified shout. “Take Harry and run!”_

_The serpentine dark lord only gets a glimpse of the woman with wine red hair before she and the cursed infant he came for are gone. Before him James Potter stands tall with his hands up, the gesture placating while his hazel eyes are defiant._

_“Please.” he says.”He’s just a baby. Have mercy for once in your life, Voldemort. Have mercy!”_

_The dark lord glares and raises his wand. “Avada Kedavra!”_

_A flash of emerald light engulfs James, and he screams as his soul is torn from his body. He falls to the floor, pale, eyes wide and glossed over. Voldemort steps over the still warm and soft corpse and continues his ascent up the stairs to the nursery._

_Lily Potter stands tall, arms cradling the child protectively to her chest, a fierce look in her emerald eyes. “Not Harry!” She shakes her head, eyes begging. She too is unarmed, or at least, she does not try to defend herself, or even pull it out. “Not Harry! Please not Harry!”_

_“Stand aside, you silly girl!” the serpent-man hisses, wand held aloft and threatening. “Stand aside now!”_

_“Not Harry! Please no. Take me, kill me instead!” she offers. He laughs at this, high and cold. “Not Harry, please, Have mercy…Have mercy!”_

_“Avada Kedavra!” She meets the same fate as her husband, screaming and still cradling her son as she falls limp, as if she were a puppet whose strings were cut._

_The child cries, startled and frightened from the fall, wailing for comfort from the corpse of his mother, too young to comprehend what is going on. The dark lord sneers down at this helpless creature destined to one day be his ruin. He raises his wand, pointing at the bridge of his nose, directly between his startlingly emerald eyes._

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

**==**

Harry Potter opens his eyes with a sharp choked off sound, a scream threatening to crawl out from behind his lips. The visions of the night still play in his mind, a macabre theater performance of memories not his own. His throat feels as if it is clogged up with dead leaves like a storm drain. His heart beats hummingbird fast behind his rib cage, as if trying to escape. He hardly dares breath. He sits rigidly in the bed, fists digging into the ratted blankets beneath him so tight his knuckles are white as paper. His wide absinthe colored eyes dart around the small space, unseeing in the darkness without his glasses to aid him, shadows and dim light dancing. Shaking fingers feel around, grasping the frames and shoving them on his face. It is only as the familiar sight of his bedroom greets him that he allows himself to breath, chest heaving as he draws in sharp pants of musty air.

It is raining outside, the soft static noise of the falling rain providing calming white noise. Harry throws back his covers and pads across the room to the window. He flings the panes open, and they clang and vibrate against the bars on his window. He holds his breath, utterly silent except for the rain and the thundering of his heart, and slowly relaxes as no one comes running. Outside, the clouds are thick and black, ominous and eerie smoke covering the stars and moon, so that there is no light to be seen. The petrichor and the aroma of his Aunt Petunia’s blossoming summer flowers washes the musty smell of the room away, easing the tightness in his chest a little.

This is hardly the first time he has had this nightmare. He doubts it will be the last time either. He has been having dreams like this one ever since Voldemort possessed him in the Department of Mysteries a little over a week ago. They aren’t really dreams. They are his memories. However, tonight's vision, watching his parents’ deaths from the viewpoint of his enemy, leaves an acrid flavor on his tongue, as if he has eaten something foul and burnt.

Still, anything is a reprieve from the stifling guilt he feels knowing he is responsible for his godfather’s death, even Voldemort’s memories.

No one blames him for Sirius’s death, in fact they tell him quite often that it isn’t his fault, but Harry knows better. Sirius had given him the two way mirror for that exact reason, to contact him in an emergency when all other means of communication were unavailable, but Harry had not stopped to think before acting. Had he only remembered to use the mirror, Sirius would still be alive.

It is too late now. Sirius is dead and he can’t do anything about it.

**====**


End file.
